When he finally reached the stairwell door that led back to the lobby, he leaned against the wall, grinding his teeth through the pain to keep his shit together. He opened the door just a crack, peering into the lobby. A guy wearing a deliveryman’s uniform and a hat pulled down over his eyes entered the building carrying a small package, his intense gaze searching the lobby.
Shit.
Jack rested his head against the wall for a moment, trying to steady the hand holding his gun. He took a deep breath and threw open the door, his gun trained on the deliveryman. “Where’s Kozlov?”
The man looked mildly surprised that Jack had gotten the drop on him, but his surprise ended there. “I don’t know who this Kozlov is,” he said, his words heavily accented. “I am only here to make delivery.”
“The hell you are,” Jack replied, inching closer, careful to keep his back to the wall of mailboxes. “Get rid of the package. Slowly.”
The guy’s mouth curved up at one corner.
Fuck.
In the next instant, the guy tossed the box aside and brought up his gun. But not fast enough. Jack dropped, firing off two rounds as he fell, nailing the guy in the center of the chest and sending his would-be assassin’s bullet wide, to lodge in the mailboxes behind him.
Jack struggled to his feet, the pain in his side making his head spin, and stumbled toward the door. There’d be more of Kozlov’s men coming. He just had to make sure they came for him and not for Maddie.
Still holding his gun, he slid his hand into his jacket to hide it from any curious passersby as he exited the building and made his way down the sidewalk. His unsteady gait drew a few curious looks, but he kept moving forward, eager to get as far away as possible before the sniper could move his position and finish Jack off. Three blocks down, he turned onto another street and sighed with relief when he saw a yellow taxicab idling at the curb.
He picked up his pace, hurrying toward the cab. As soon as he was inside he’d call headquarters and get some backup and figure out a rendezvous point for Maddie to bring in Eva, and—
The screech of tires brought his head up in time to see a black SUV halt a few feet from the cab. Jack bolted toward the cab, but before he could reach it, two men in suits jumped out of the SUV. Apparently spooked, the cab peeled out, cutting off Jack’s hope for escape. He spun around, gun raised to take on the guys from the SUV, but not quickly enough. Before he could get a shot off, one of them pistol-whipped him.
Jack staggered, trying to throw a punch, but it went wide, catching one of his attackers in the jaw, but without much force. The next thing he knew, he was being thrown into the back of the SUV.
The vehicle lurched forward, throwing Jack against the door. He sucked in air between his teeth as pain lanced through his abdomen and his vision narrowed briefly before he managed to scoot up against the back of the seat, forcing himself to sit upright and face his attacker. Of course, he knew who it was before the rat-faced bastard in the front seat turned to sneer at him.
“Hello again, my old friend,” Kozlov greeted in Russian, his polite tone belying the deadly look in his small, close-set dark eyes.
“Kozlov,” Jack ground out. “I’d say it’s good to see you, but your hospitality’s as warm as ever.”
Kozlov’s toothy smile widened. “The last time we met, you left many of my friends dead and my employer’s son an orphan. Please forgive that I didn’t invite you to my home for dinner.”
“I’ll get over it,” Jack assured him.
“We have much to discuss, Ivan—” He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. “My apologies—I’m afraid I don’t know what to call you. Not Ivan Petrov. No, not that.Thatman is a murderer and traitor. John Estridge, perhaps?” He sighed. “No.Heis no doubt dead with the rest of his family in England.Suchtragedy . . . Women and children should never be forced to suffer for the crimes of others.”
Jack bit back the “fuck you” that rushed to his lips and merely glared at the son of a bitch, subtly noting every aspect of the inside of the SUV, trying to figure out the best way to take out the grinning bastard and his pals.
Kozlov shrugged. “I guess I have no choice then, except ‘Jack Grayson.’” He studied Jack with mocking interest. “What will you call yourself next, I wonder?”
Jack managed a sardonic grin. “Dead, I imagine.”
Kozlov chuckled, his laugh a rough scrape that made Jack cringe inwardly. The Russian switched to English when he continued. “Always the pessimist. That is why my employer liked you, Jack. You were never ‘blowing the sunshine up his ass,’ as they say.”
“No, I left that for you, Kozlov,” Jack drawled. “Well, the blowing part, at least.”
Kozlov’s eyes sparked with anger, but his tone was even when he said, “I’m afraid our last meeting didn’t go quite as planned, Jack.”
Jack lifted his brows. “No? So where’d your little plan go wrong? Was it the part where you shot at me or the part where you missed?”
Kozlov’s expression darkened, and he jerked his chin at the man seated next to Jack. A powerful fist nailed Jack in the jaw, making his vision go dim. He shook his head and had to blink a few times to focus again.
Kozlov sighed dramatically. “It saddens me that our friendship has come to this.”
“We were never friends,” Jack spat.
Kozlov shrugged. “Too bad. I was hoping that we could come to an agreement. But if you are not my friend, then you are my enemy.”
